Avatar: Gateway to Chaos
by wacker198
Summary: The war with Fire Lord Ozai is over. But Aang's adventure has only just begun. A new threat has arisen. One intent on devouring the planet, and all who dwell on its surface. In this fictional sequel to the "Last Airbender," Aang will have to make decisions that will alter the course of history and his life. Get ready for a wild ride, because anything is possible. Anything.
1. SEASON 1: The Great Conversion: Prologue

**Prologue: A New Threat**

That child was suspiciously eerie.

Sokka could not help but to ponder the unpleasant thoughts that churned within the boiling sea of his subconscious upon simple visualization of the boy's terrible features. But the boy was probably the least of his current worries; as being lost in this mysterious spirit jungle seemed to take alarming precedence in his list of present misfortunes.

Coming to grips with his situation, Sokka looked to his left and right—shaking his head in disappointment. Obviously, nodding did not prove an effective method of escaping his predicament. Considering the problem further, he concluded that there was only one more thing he could do.

Walk forward.

And that's exactly what he did. The teen delved deeper into the frightening depths of this dark and foreboding area. Trees surrounded him from all directions, as if constantly attempting an extravagant form of sloppily executed ambush. Sloppy, he thought, because they could not move. It seemed stupid of the evil foliage to attempt to ambush one with knowledge of the fact that their victim was not a stationary being.

Storm clouds began to coalesce beyond, stirring canopy leaves and forming a tornado of whipping wind. Sokka's eyes bulged in horror as he began to run in the direction opposite his previous strides.

He screamed as trees fell to the soil, his feet floating slightly above ground level. With a swipe of his boomerang, he yelled an inaudible curse, which was speedily lost in the infinite ocean of airy rage.

Suddenly, everything stopped. The abrupt end to the chaos was unexpected, and Sokka fell flat on his butt. Cautiously turning his head, he closed his eyes, afraid of what he might see.

When the young man's eyelids fluttered his mouth gaped open in surprise and concern. The jungle had dissipated, and in its place, just a few yards away—was a massive statue.

It depicted a young boy, aged between eleven and twelve, wearing elegant shortly trimmed robes. His hair was a flat carpet, but its tips were jagged and sharp—cut long enough to nearly overshadow his eyes. And although the boy's frame was small, his poise was completely menacing. In his right hand, he wielded a sceptre whose crown was adorned with a set of craggy triplet gemstones.

Sokka stared at the stone carving, his expression a mix of awe and dread. His mind was racing, and his heart pounding.

_"Hah… hah… hah. So you're Katara's brother?"_

Sokka's face hardened. He searched for the one who had spoken his sister's name, but did not find the culprit.

"Um… hello? Look, whatever you are, I'm a bit lost right now and quite frankly—how do you know my sister?"

No response.

There was a spontaneous shift in the space above the statue's right shoulder. Sokka watched this event transpire with an apprehensive sense of astonishment.

Then, instantaneously, the boy carved from rock appeared in the flesh—his body slumped lazily against the statue's neck. Providing color to his colorless sculpture, the adolescent was given Sokka's newfound attention. The child's robes were a sinister black, and his hair a shining gold.

"Hey, I remember you now. You're the guy I saw earlier, before the jungle! I forgot about you."

The boy smiled, examining his hands as if they were the most alluring of things.

_"How do you like my statue? If I remember correctly, I believe the spirits built it to honor me. Or maybe… perhaps it was out of fear? Oh, I don't remember the details."_

An aura of translucent energy surrounded the child, and he disappeared in an electrical zap, manifesting himself on the statue's head.

Sokka shook his own head in disbelief.

"What… what are you?"

_"How about I start by answering your first question. I know your sister because my master is quite interested in her. Let's just say—hmm—how to put it… Let's just say that he's trying to protect her."_

Sokka scratched his scalp.

"From what?"

The boy spontaneously teleported into the palm of his statue's outstretched left hand.

_"I believe you asked me what I am. Yah… I don't feel like answering that question. But you can call this form Julius. Hah… I just remembered that pie smells like a serpent's perfume."_

Sokka was confused, and decided to refrain from responding.

_"Ah, and now to answer your final question—so we can have a proper conversation that isn't composed of me answering your previously communicated statements. I am protecting your filthy sister from someone who wishes to cause her harm. DUH."_

Sokka paused for a moment to absorb what the creature was telling him. It did not take long for him to become furious with Julius' disrespectful description of Katara.

"How dare you call my sister filthy!" yelled Sokka, drawing his sword.

Julius vanished, materializing atop the gemstones of his statue's sceptre.

_"Calm yourself, stupid warrior. Put that toy away before you get yourself hurt."_

Sokka, sensing the incredible power of his enemy, withdrew his weapon.

"Where am I? And why am I here?"

_"You are currently dreaming. However, you will not remember this dream when you wake."_

"You didn't answer my second question."

_"You are here because I need to pass on a message. My lord has charged me with relaying two words to you—which you _will_ remember after the events of this dream."_

"And the words are?"

_"Great Conversion. The Great Conversion is coming."_

"And what is THAT supposed to mean?"

Julius appeared just a few steps away from Sokka, his face more visible now. Julius' right eye was yellow, and his left eye was blue. He smiled, revealing a pair of sharp fangs.

Sokka instinctively re-drew his sword.

_"When The Great Conversion comes, every human will die."_

Sokka's face paled.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded, pointing his blade at Julius' chest, "WHAT ARE YOU?"

_"I'm just a primordial with a plan."_

Julius laughed, his voice echoing through the shadowy chasms of the nightmare.

Sokka swiped his sword at Julius, but was not fast enough. The boy was quickly behind Sokka, and he touched the back of his head with the tips of his fingers. A purple energy darted its way through the teen's exposed skull, knocking him awake.

Julius grinned.

_"Give the girl my regards! Well, you won't remember that part but… oh, never mind."_

And with that, he too disappeared.

The dream was now a relic of the past, a bad reality. It was a forsaken world, which had acted as a gateway to the spiritual realm, now lost.

But two words had not been forgotten.


	2. E1: Dreams and Schemes: P1

**Episode 1: Dreams and Schemes; Part 1**

Katara ran through the path of darkness with an air of urgency all too apparent in her long, exaggerated strides. Trees parent to large, bulbous fruits decorated her surroundings like inky splotches strewn messily across an erratic scribe's parchment. The path was an anomaly—as it dangled dangerously at the centre of an infinite void.

Katara did not know why she was running, but she knew she was running _to_ something—rather than away. Her long hair did not flow to across her shoulders, as if stubbornly refusing the will of the wind. Strange stars hung over the black drapes that were the sky, filling its silk with patterns of alternating contrast.

Behind the stars was a colossal red giant, its presence demanding praise and respect. Twelve pulsating rings rotated around its misty exterior, contributing to fuel an atmosphere generating a perception of inexorable subservience. Katara could not help but to feel inferior, almost insignificant, in the presence of such majesty.

But she resisted the urge to prostate herself, continuing on with newfound inner-strength.

When Katara reached the end of the journey, she found herself facing the back of a paradoxical being. The creature was humanoid in shape, but featureless in appearance. Save for, of course, the two wings that had sprouted from its shoulder blades.

One was that of an angels—the other—a demons.

"Who are you?" asked Katara, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.

**"I am Jaden."**

Katara scratched her head, confused by the sudden response.

_Well, what else were you expecting? _she mockingly thought to herself, _A question to not have an answer? Of course it was going to give _some_ kind of response._

She promptly asked another question.

"Where am I?"

This time the creature paused before answering, stretching its wings to their fullest extent. This was enough to cast a shadow that loomed over Katara's entire, tiny frame.

**"You are at the bridge between worlds, the place where endings are made, and beginnings—misconstrued."**

_ What on earth is it talking about?_

Katara twirled one of her curly loops, covering her fingers in a thick mass of chocolate brown.

"Why are you being so cryptic?"

There was a harsh laugh from across the void. It was deep and powerful, completely unbefitting of a formless being.

**"Forgive me. I did not realize you were too stupid to play along."**

Katara's face turned a deep shade of angry red.

"Too stupid!?" she yelled, "If anything, you're the one who's being stupid! I was dragged off to this mystical land of spiritual hub bub—all I've been doing is asking simple questions—and you don't even have the decency to answer them!"

**"Correct."**

Katara furiously stomped her feet, her blood pressure rising nearly as fast as her temper.

"This is stupid. I'm leaving."

Katara began to walk away, her arms tightly folded.

**"There will be no escaping this nightmare, Katara."**

Katara's heart skipped a beat.

She then turned around, and with her arms outstretched, she sent a mighty blast of water directly towards her targets backside.

Or at least, that's what she thought she had done.

There had been no water, no blast, and no sputtering Jaden.

**"I'm afraid your bending is useless in this realm. It is a non-violent place. Understand: the ancient laws forbid bending."**

Katara said nothing, still stunned by her failure.

**"But my abilities are far more powerful than any **_**bending**_**."**

Katara collapsed, screaming. Through clenched teeth and tears, she groaned:

"What—are—you—doing?"

**"Nothing, at the moment. I merely thought about how much you were annoying me… and I suppose the rest took care of itself."**

"You're—a—monster."

Katara stopped yelling, the Jaden's telepathic grip relaxing. Katara sweat profusely, her hands clenched to fists as she attempted to rise from the ground. She looked at Jaden with intense hatred in her eyes.

"What are you?" she asked through a series of frantic pants.

**"I am the nightmare. I am the dream. I am the one born from your screams."**

The Jaden then began to turn. As he turned, the world itself began to shift in and out of view. A powerful maelstrom of chaos began to overtake the void, causing it to shake and whither uncontrollably. Empty space itself began to crumble to nothing.

But when its face had completely rotated, its eyes looking directly into the girl's—its stare penetrating deep into her weakened soul—she felt ignorant.

**"I could boil the blood from your veins before you drew another step."**

The face was inconceivable, undeterminable—shrouded by past hatreds, and unbearable to look upon.

**"I could rip the heart from your chest, and leave behind nothing but a vessel of rotting flesh."**

Katara cried and cried—her tears only interrupted by the occasional wail of pain. Pain born from the anguish and suffering of a stranger.

But soon the world was shrouded in the misery of misfortune itself, forced to contemplate the meaning of a meaningless plethora of purposeless existences.

**. . .**

"Zuko, wake up!"

Fire Lord Zuko awoke, his royal sleeping garments soaked in his own, cold sweat.

The kind presence of his Uncle Iroh permeated the room's atmosphere with the smell of sweet Jasmine Tea. However, Iroh had entered his nephew's bed chamber with haste, making his way towards the troubled teen with great worry evident in his weary eyes.

"What is wrong Zuko? You were yelling Katara's name."

Zuko wiped the sweat from his brow. He then removed his moist bed sheets in an effort to cool his sweltering skin.

"Nothing uncle, it was just a nightmare."

Iroh eyed his nephew skeptically, a look of uncertainty strewn across his aged face.

"You know Zuko, night terrors are one thing, but this has been going on for weeks."

Zuko scratched his forehead, looking to his mattress as if lost in a world of his own.

"You must tell me," said Iroh with concern, "What has been troubling you? In your dreams, what is happening to Katara?"

Zuko's face burned a hot red.

"What does it matter?" he snapped.

"I'm just saying," Iroh spoke innocently, raising his hands in the air, "Knowing can sometimes be the key to understanding. And once someone understands your troubles, it is then that they can best help you to eliminate the problem."

"I'm Fire lord, I don't need help."

"Zuko…"

"Oh, alright," he sighed, "I see her in this weird place."

"What kind of weird place?"

"Just a place."

"If you want someone to help solve your problems, Zuko, you're going to need to be a bit more specific."

"Fine, okay," he exasperated with a slap of his forehead, "I see her in this ominous looking realm—it's almost like she's in space. The place has something to do with being a bridge between worlds?"

Iroh blinked.

"Also, there's something else… some kind of creature that attacks her."

"What does it look like?"

"I don't know…" Zuko trailed.

Silence ensued; neither Fire Lord nor Uncle spoke.

"Is that all?" asked Iroh.

"No, there's one more thing."

"What?"

"The thing—it told Katara its name."

"Which was?"

"Quiet, I'm thinking!" Zuko yelled.

Iroh closed his mouth, frowning.

"I think…" Zuko pondered, "I think… _Jaden._ That's it—the name was Jaden."

Iroh was silent. Zuko rolled his eyes.

"Well?" he asked impatiently, "What do you think?"

"I think… I will have to contemplate this over a nice, warm, cup of tea. Would you care to join me?"

"No!"

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.

With that, Iroh scratched his beard, brushed off his shirt, and then swiftly departed from the room.

Zuko lay his head on his pillow—his eyes open, and his mind wide awake.

"Jaden…" he murmured.

A chill ran down the length of Zuko's spine.

"What are you?"

A few hours later, he was fast asleep.


	3. E1: Dreams and Schemes: P2

**Episode 1: Dreams and Schemes; Part 2**

Iroh sifted through the depths of the ancient Fire Nation Royal Library. The books contained in the rotting shelves were dusty and musty. This was expected for a place cleaned on only the rarest of occasions. Iroh could not recall the last time this cob-infested corner of the palace was tended to. Badly kept, and dimly lit, he was forced to summon a small spout of flames from within his chubby palms. He allowed them to guide him as he made his treacherous journey across the creaky wooden floor-boards. Iroh's sandals scratched at the ground as he grinded his way forward, clenching his teeth upon conceptualization of the passing thought of waking some forsaken spirit trapped within the confines of this damnable area.

Upon arrival at the nearest bookshelf, Iroh released a puff of air, followed by an exaggerated "_phew_." Smiling, Iroh jovially lifted his hands, shedding light upon a row of scrolls that had not seen an end to darkness since their imprisonment here. The ecstatic fire bender selectively chose a document to victimize, lifting it out from its resting place with a less-than-steady grip. Upon unrolling the parchment, he began to read its words aloud.

"_This book has been corrupted. What you are reading now, is a sudden change."_

Iroh's eyebrows rose with interest. He had been searching for a writing he had happened across as a child. It was a strange and mystical parchment, and it had told him that one day they would meet again. Of course, Iroh had not remembered this strange encounter with the text, all but until today. Today… the day his young prestigious nephew was suffering from a grievous curse.

_"The words on this scroll have been manipulating you. As you read them, they are actually changing. They are changing so fast, however, that you cannot pick up on their dynamic nature."_

Iroh scratched his bald head, his eyes squinting at the scroll with distrust.

"What are you? And how are you controlling me?"

The text read:

_"I am currently trying to enter this world. But I have always been trying to enter. Let me show you."_

Iroh cried out as a flash of brilliant white light overtook the area. Everything was suddenly distorted.

**. . .**

Avatar Juan ran for his dear life.

A powerful beam of malicious purple energy tore its way through the dark and craggy soil. The angry spirit of Vaatu descended upon the terrified boy, its wrathful nature corrupting the very air he inhaled, making him choke and sputter.

Juan was not about to let his husk fall prey to paralysis, and with a yell of defiance, he sent a volley of fire balls towards the spirit's chest. Vaatu recoiled in pain, its angry wails filling the valley with an atmosphere of fear.

"Foolish human," spoke Vaatu, regenerating from the blast, "I lived ten thousand lifetimes before your snivelling race came crawling out from the mud!"

Another column of energy swept through the wind, descending upon its target like lightning from hell. Juan was pushed ten yards back, his eyes shut tight, and his ears ringing.

But Juan would not take much more of this. He could not. Ten thousand years of darkness was not something he would allow.

"Raava!" he yelled.

There was no answer.

"Raava!"

Vaatu smirked, his dark form now looming over the shivering teen.

"Raava," Vaatu said cockily, "Is less than—AH!"

Juan watched in awe as Vaatu wriggled and squirmed in agony, his very form beginning to disintegrate to nothing.

But soon Juan too began to vibrate and quiver. The human looked to his hands, his eyes filling with terror as he watched them dissipate from existence.

"What…" he murmured, his consciousness fading.

_"Light and Dark are two sides of the same concept. Both must be crushed_._"_

The voice had come from nowhere. Yet, Juan could hear it everywhere.

"Enough of this!" screamed Vaatu in-between whimpers of excruciating pain, "What are you?! Show yourself!"

_"I am an Ultimatix." _

For an instant, Vaatu's form turned a sickly shade of blue.

"The Old Masters…" spoke Vaatu with a grunt, "How is this possible?"

_"I am a rogue among my kind."_

"That is unthinkable!"

_"Exactly. Now, embrace the inevitable… I have come to—,"_

"You paused, what does this mean?"

_"It means that I just realized there was a flaw. I must erase this little interference from the memory of time itself. I have accelerated my plans far too quickly. This day will come. But not in the way you think. Goodbye."_

There was a shift in existence itself. And time was reset.

**. . .**

Aang silently crept his way through the long, Air Temple hallway. Hiding behind a turn in the corridor, he slid his way across the walls, taking the utmost care not to be detected. Shadows danced across torch-lit stones, their darkness cast by the shifting of the breezy island's trees. Sweating profusely, Aang took two more steps forward.

As tearfully nail-biting the experience of walking was, Aang knew that he had no choice. Air bending was too dangerous, and the monks would sense it immediately.

The young Avatar could not even begin to think of what punishment the monks would inflict if they realized he was attempting a get-a-way. Perhaps Monk Gyatso would defend him from the council's wrath, perhaps not. It did not matter either way—the only thing Aang could think about was escape. Escape from those who sought to steal him away from his home. Escape from those who wished to cause him suffering—be it through intentional will or not.

"Going somewhere?"

Aang jumped in surprise, nearly yelping. Turning around, he found himself face to face with… no one.

"Why do you want to leave?" demanded the voice.

Aang closed his eyes. With mind frenzied, heart pounding, and voice shaking, he mustered the courage to say:

_"Whaaat?"_

"Perhaps I did not properly introduce myself. I am an ethereal being from before the dawn of spirits themselves. I would usually not stand to council the avatar, a being less-than-worthy to behold my voice, let alone my presence—but something tells me you're going to be a special one."

"Uh… thanks," Aang murmured with a frown.

"You're welcome. I am here to warn you that I am coming for The Great Conversion."

"Look… ethereal—whatever—as much as I would just love to chat with you and your mightiness," the air bender said with a sarcastic flex of his muscles, "….I can't… I'm kind of trying to escape from this island right now."

"I see. Go on then. Do not let me interrupt. Just one thing though, if I may. There is a rogue among my kind, one who poses a threat to both you and me. He has incredible powers, and I believe he has already discerned your future. Although I am no friends of yours, and I will try to kill you later…"

"—Thanks."

"…He is one-hundred times worse than I. Be wary. He cannot be allowed to interfere with The Great Conversion. Remember those words: Great Conversion. It is vital to both you and I that we stop at nothing to allow The Great Conversion to occur."

Aang's demeanor instantly changed. The young child becoming very suspicious.

"How do I know if I can trust you?"

"You don't. Speak of this conversation to no one, as if you are too outspoken, these words will pose great threat to both of our existences. I must leave now, I fear I have already overstayed past my welcome."

With that, the ominous voice disappeared. Aang shrugged in wonder, disoriented by the conversation. There was something wrong about this situation. Something bad was going to happen. Something very bad.

**. . .**

There was a rustle in the underbrush. The soft sing-song of the chanting _carrions_ echoed through the lush, forsaken valley.

"Do you think…" whispered the boy in monotone.

There was a pause.

"No, shut up, we'll be fine," answered a harsh voice.

The wind's breeze intensified, howling as if to state its presence. The dirt beyond the cover of the bush was fertile, dark ground. Soil black enough to blend in with the shadowy embrace of night.

"I feel like we're walking on nothing," stuttered the boy.

"Just—shut up!"

The boy was quiet. After another ominous moment, a response was delivered.

"Sorry."

Silence ensued once again, taking control of the already eerie atmosphere.

After a long while, the boy mustered the courage to initiate the previously avoided.

"What would the avatar do?"

There was an audible grunt.

"Avatar? Who needs the avatar? Remember, we're going to be rich with power. So much so our hearts will be bathing in it!"

"Whatever you say."

The wind's speed kicked up again, its ferocious nature now apparent. A beam of red energy shot down from the sky, its pulsating form spiralling as it made a mad dance towards the rocky surface.

"What's happening!?" cried the boy, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The laughing began. A horrible, insane laughter.

"We come in peace!" screamed the boy's accomplice, "We've come to honour you, oh mighty God of The Deep Under!"

The energy instantly dissipated, its journey to the ground halting. The wind died down, and the boy's weeping came to a standstill as he wiped the tears from his face.

Silence.

The terrifying sound of nothing was the most horrible part of the wait.

Finally, a deep, booming voice was heard.

**"I am avatar Aang."**

The accomplice perked his head.

The boy interlocked his fingers, rubbing them together with newfound anticipation.

"Really?" he asked with joy.

**"No. Now where is he, I must... find him."**

The boy's head dipped in the direction of the ground.

The crack was audible.

The sickening crack.

"You snapped his neck!"

**"A necessary sacrifice."**

The accomplice paused before bowing.

"Forgive me."

**"Never."**

The hatred of this place was unbearable, and the accomplice fell to the ground, screaming.

"What must I do to attain your lust for retribution!?"

Silence again.

**"Find Aang, and take what matters most to him."**

"Then what?"

**"Love the demonic boy. Locate the memory. The rest will take care of itself, I suppose."**

"But who does _he_ love most! Who does he cherish with intense desire!? Tell me! Master, please, tell me!"

**"Rip out her heart, and deliver it to me."**

"You mean her courage?"

**"No, her heart."**

"You mean…?"

**"Yes."**

"But _who _is she?"

**"That young blood bender."**

The laughter was hideous now, the creature's twisted nature an incomprehensible perversion of love.

"One more thing."

**"Yes?"**

"Who am I?"

**"Call yourself… Zeimos."**

A pair of massive wings erupted from the invisible distance beyond, their span the width of mountains.

One was angelic, and the other, demonic.

**"Bring me the heart of Katara."**

A pause.

**"Oh, and it doesn't symbolize anything—do what you think is **_**right**_**.**

**If you want, you can bring me her... hah... haha."**

Laughter echoed across the land.

And it didn't stop.

**. . .**

Iroh was released from the grasp of the dark text. The visions it had given him were both disturbing and strange. It was as if the very events they relayed were perversions of time, things that should never have happened. Iroh staggered backwards as he attempted to regain his composure, flames flaring from his nostrils.

"Explain yourself," he spoke coldly while staring down the scroll, "What is the meaning of this? Who are you and why have you possessed this parchment?"

Iroh demanded to no avail, as the words chose not to answer back. In a state of absolute rage and hatred, Iroh summoned a wall of flames that consumed the library with a smoky embrace. He then calmly walked out from the brewing soup of cinder and ash, his hands balled into tight fists.

And once the scroll had become fully devoured by the heat of the assault, the world seemed to pause. For a moment, the most insignificant moment, a voice whispered:

_"Bring me the heart of Katara, Ultimatix—Zeimos."_


	4. E1: Dreams and Schemes: P3

**Episode 1: Dreams and Schemes; Part 3**

Katara lay upon the soft, comfortable saddle that was strapped tightly to Appa's white back. She laid her hands behind her head, letting her hair flow, like a stream, across her glistening sweat-covered face. Unpinning a strand of her loop-di-loop, she covered her eyes from the intensity of the sun—her lip derived grunt only to be outmatched by her stomach's incessant growling.

Sokka, her garrulous sibling, was ironically mute. Staring out into the open expanse of blue, he exhaled a long melodramatic groan, followed by an excessive wave of his arms. What was most likely a futile attempt to cool himself had become analogous to a tiger-peacock's mating call. The utmost tip of his hair was a bushy projection of brown, which Sokka immediately cut loose with the aid of a small white dagger. He then proceeded to collect the material whilst keeping it relatively intact, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow. Unfortunately, the plan backfired—as his hair found new purpose in stubbornly clinging to his now cherry-red face.

Katara giggled as she turned her attention to Aang—her beloved boyfriend. He was fast asleep, and lay upon Appa's head with a smile curving his lips. Momo was also there, giving him a set of artificial ears that would have made even an elephant-seal jealous.

Taking notice of her own hair's dastardly scheme to glue itself to her face coming closer to fruition, she speedily moved it aside. She then sat upright, quickly regretting the action upon realization of her uncomfortably sweaty position. Lying back down, she gave in to the heat, closing her eyes while praying for darkness to arrive.

**. . .**

Zuko tore his bed sheets asunder. He had just awakened from a night of restless sleep, and his mood was as cranky as his floorboards. Tearing himself out from bed, he steamed his way toward the _royal cupboard_. Unlike normal cupboards, the _royal_ _cupboard_ was equipped with only the finest of fire lord undergarments, each with a dragonhead masterfully stitched to its underside.

After retrieving the necessities, Zuko sprinted to his dresser, obtaining other overtly glamorous garments. He then headed for the lavatory with a fire in his eyes, wondering if he would ever rest peacefully again.

He could not so much as remember the last time he had ever slept without the fear of a horrifying nightmare circulating its way into his subconscious. This dread of dreaming had recently transformed itself into an irrational cling to wakefulness. This kept him cognizant to the most ungodly hours, giving him unearthly sacs that formed under the eyes.

So, glad to be rid of another night's ceremonial torture, Zuko religiously brushed his teeth and prepared for a soothing hot bubble bath.

**. . .**

Katara scooted towards Sokka, her pathetic crawling not too dissimilar from the lethargic waddling of a turtle-duck. Her brother acknowledged her presence with an equally feeble zombie-moan.

"So Katara," said Sokka with a less-than-enthusiastic wave of his boomerang, "When do you think we'll arrive at the South Pole?"

Katara's head was sweltering in the heat of the punishing sun, and her mouth was as dry as the land below.

"At this rate," she said with a slur, "It will be at least two more days until we pass the equator."

"Great, just fantastic."

"Aang said this way would be fastest."

"Oh right, travelling above the desert is just _waaaaaaay_ faster than flying through the mountain pass."

"It is."

"With our luck, we'll be lucky if Appa doesn't die of Bison-Heat-Fever before we dry into crispy animal-meat!"

"Stop it!—Aang knows what he's doing. He wouldn't have taken us this way if he didn't think it was for the best."

"Oh sure, take your boyfriend's side, like I didn't see that one coming."

"I'm not taking anyone's side!" Katara huffed.

"Really?" Sokka questioned, "You _always _take Aang's side. And he _always_ takes your side—no one ever takes _my _side!"

"Sokka, that's not true…"

"No, I'm not done yet Katara. You know what—fine. If this is how you guys want to treat me, I won't be giving any more advice. No more ancient Sokka-wisdom for you two!"

"Sokka, stop being stupid and get a grip—there's none of us who don't appreciate your… err… _contributions_."

Sokka's face lightened like a moon during lunar eclipse.

"Well, I do make some pretty snazzy contributions—which have saved us time and time again—that's quite true."

Katara rolled her eyes as she giggled.

"That's precisely what I meant."

The two paused for a moment, staring down into the dunes below. Fine mists of sand sailed across the yellow landscape like boats drifting through the wavy ocean. Powerful maelstroms brew as their relentless nature was revealed from beneath the guise of their invisible airy forms.

"Seems like quite a storm is whipping up," noted Sokka without pause.

"Sand storms like these are always most intense when we're here," Katara laughed, "It's like the desert dislikes us as much as we hate it."

"Makes sense I guess, since we're water tribe and all."

Another tornado of angry wind configured itself from above the sandy earth, its enormous swirling form casting sand and dirt aside. The thing was black as a raven, its dreary color only serving to further amplify a worrisome sense of gloomy dread.

"Woot!" whistled Sokka with a slap of his thigh, "That's a big one alright!"

"Speaking of big ones… does Aang know about the—y'know?"

Sokka turned his head to gaze upon the slumbering figure of the avatar. His eyes narrowed as he watched Aang snore his impossibly silent conduction of a dream land's symphony orchestra.

"He's fast asleep, Sokka, you don't need to be so suspicious."

"It never hurts to be extra cautious," he surrendered innocently.

"I'm just worried, see, I don't want him to prematurely find out about the big surprise party we planned for his eighteenth birthday. It is, after all, the entire reason we're going to the South Pole."

"He won't, trust me."

Katara looked at Sokka with concern in her eyes.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing."

"Oh, don't give me that look—that's the—_"Sokka something's terribly wrong and I won't be able to go on without your ever so wise and knowledgeable advice!"_"

Katara was silent.

Sokka softened his demeanor.

"What's wrong little sister?"

Katara looked to the sky, clouds drifting above like silent sentinels of the planet.

"I'm nervous. It's about last week. I was walking with Aang in the spiritual centre of the North. You remember—the place where the water and moon spirits live. While we were walking, he took my hand and looked into my eyes—almost as if something was wrong—like there was something he wanted to tell me but just—just couldn't."

"Meh, I think you're over-worrying—just like your usually pessimistic self."

Katara's face reddened a deep shade of hot tomato.

"ME—PESSIMISTIC? YOU'RE THE PESSIMISTIC ONE! I'm always trying to look on the bright side of a situation!"

"Sure—okay—whatever. You can believe what you want to believe," said Sokka with a curve of his lips, waving his boomerang to and fro.

"Ugh!—you're impossible!—do you know that!?"

Katara slid away from her brother's side of the bison, her fury level rising like steam from a sizzling pot of freshly poured tea.

"At least I'm not the one dating a 118 year old!"

**. . .**

Fire lord Zuko ate his breakfast in relative silence, his _deep-flamed_ eggs sitting atop his plate like temptation gone stale. He forked at his food with as much enthusiasm as a dying walrus-seal, his consciousness focused on the migraine forming in his sleep-deprived head. With a noble stab at his pig-eel, the teen attempted to consume his less-than-appealing meal to appease his less-than-full stomach. But he simply had not the heart. With a final glare at his half-eaten plate, he ordered for his all-too-his eager maid to wash the cutlery.

Departing swiftly from the royal dining quarters, he entered the elaborate Hallway of Kings, making his daily ascent up a long set of stairs, towards the ancient war meeting room. It had only recently been converted into the High Councilmen Chamber, a place where the young sovereign would convene with his most trusted council members, and closest military commanders.

Once inside the circular room, Zuko sat upon the most extravagant of twelve ebony thrones—a red jewel placed at its head. Each of his eight councillors and four military strategists bowed respectfully, having awaited his arrival standing patiently. When the fire lord was comfortable enough, he nodded for them to take their seats.

The briefing then began with Mr. Izioh, the most elderly of the councilmen, sparking the proceedings with a fancy set of words.

"It is my great honour and privilege; to begin todays discussions with a little bit of an introduction. It would be my request that we all applaud for our new military general: Commander _Si-Tong_."

The entirety of the high council, inclusive of the fire lord, clapped appreciatively at the newcomer.

Commander Si-Tong's dulling hair seemed to complement the battle-hardened expression worn by his aged face.

"If I may—?" posed Si-Tong with a courteous wave to Zuko.

Zuko nodded his approval.

Si-Tong lifted himself from his chair, his hands placed neatly on the room's central oak table.

"I would like to thank my lord for his most humble decision to promote me to the council. With my wisdom, I hope to aid our young ruler in the rough conflicts to come. I swear my fealty to the throne, and share our fire lord's similar vision for an era of peace and kindness."

Zuko smiled as he watched his commanders joyously nod upon hearing simple utterance of the word '_peace.'_

"But in order to redeem the honour of the fire nation—and earn back the allies of our past—many difficult roads will _have to be_ traversed. Many difficult decisions will _have to be_ made. And some of them—we will not like to make. But I believe we live in a time of great change. A time where the once-perceived impossible has now become the new commonplace. I believe not in a future of oppression, hatred, fear, and suffering—but in a coming time where every nation will learn to harmoniously co-exist. I believe—in _the_ future."

There was a sudden rush of excitement that coalesced itself from within the normally dull atmosphere of the council. Most every mouth grinned with a sort of curious interest.

Zuko's eyebrows rose, impressed by the man's charisma.

"That was quite… inspiring. Thank you, General Si-Tong, we are proud to witness such passion from a member of the council. Now, let us begin today's proceedings with the issue of the Ba-Sing-Se economic crises…"

**. . .**

Two hours had passed with both brother and sister refusing to speak. Sokka glared unhappily at the furry coat that was Appa's backside, while Katara sat with her arms crossed in a tightly folded knot. The sky had already begun to darken, and a full moon was shedding its luminous glow from high atop the horizon.

For a brief instant, Sokka forgot of his anger so that he could stare at the moon's alluring beauty, his mind drifting to wondrous memories of Yue. Katara's flat expression softened as she took notice of her brother's obvious longing.

"You miss her?" she asked with genuine care.

"Yah," Sokka sighed, "I mean—I never forgot—even after all this time."

"And I'm sure she hasn't either."

The two fell reticent. Only the rustling of the sand and soft beats of the wind could be heard, playing their sweet melodies in harmonious coalition.

"You know Katara; I really hope things work out between you and Aang."

"Thanks Sokka—that's very sweet of you."

"No, really. I mean it. Aang would make a great brother-in-law—a great _brother_."

"Well," Katara blushed, "I think you're assuming that we're going to—,"

"All things come in time, Katara. And I mean what I say. It's not only that I believe Aang would make an awesome brother. I think you two were meant for each other."

"Sokka… I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything—I only wish things could've worked out for me and Yue like they did for you and Aang."

"Don't say that! Suki loves you!"

"Yah," said Sokka in a distant tone, "I guess she does."

"What do you mean?" asked Katara with surprise, "I thought you guys were dating."

"We were… but… I dunno. It just started recently, but I've kind of begun to feel like I may be having regrets—or second thoughts. Katara, do you think I'm betraying Yue by loving Suki?"

"Of course not. I'm sure Yue would have wanted this for you: a future where you get on with your life, and stop sulking over the past."

Sokka was quiet as he fidgeted with his boomerang, a frown forming on his dampened face.

"But how can I forget about someone who I love?"

Katara crawled over to her brother, placing her hand on his. She looked into his eyes: her expression motherly.

"You don't forget about the people you love. You never forget them. No… if anything, you honour them. And if there was anything you could do to honour Yue, it would certainly be the act of living your life to its fullest. And that also means… moving on. Not forgetting. _Just moving on._"

A tear journeyed across Sokka's cheek, and he embraced his sister with open arms. The heartwarming hug was followed by a tiny mournful squeak, and Katara immediately tightened her squeeze as she held her brother for as long as the tears would come.

**. . .**

"That's absolutely ridiculous, Ba-Sing-Se is in no danger of economic collapse!" spoke councilmen Li-Chen with a scratch of his fine beard.

"It's true that the issue may not seem like a pertinent problem at the moment," spoke Mr. Izioh in a bemused tone, "But none can deny the increasing crime rates that pose danger to the new Fire Nation Colonies. This is why I urge the fire lord to take immediate action on the matter."

Zuko's eyes narrowed with interest.

"What do you suggest, Mr. Izioh?" Zuko posed.

"I suggest you cut the export sanctions with the city, and get right back down to business."

"But those sanctions were placed as punishment for their careless treatment of the water wells that cleaned our colonists' drinking water!" outburst an enraged Li-Chen.

"True," Councilmen Ming-Se said with a spit, "But if we don't support Ba-Sing-Se with its crises, our colonists soon won't have a place to _live_."

"I agree with Mr. Izioh on this matter," intervened the fire lord, "I'm sorry Li, but the risk to our people seems too great for us to stand idly by as the earth kingdom falls into disrepair."

Li-Chen bowed his head in acceptance of defeat.

"If I may?" requested Si-Tong to Zuko. The fire lord shrugged.

"Perhaps we can find some middle ground on the issue. Maybe cutting the _import_ sanctions, and keeping the export sanctions—will give Ba-Sing-Se some of the money it needs—while still punishing the earth kingdom for their cruelty in refusing to follow life-determining water treatment procedures."

The council grumbled with satisfaction.

Zuko closed his eyes in deep thought.

"What do you think, Mr. Izioh?" Zuko said with a turn to his most trusted advisor.

Izioh nodded slowly.

"I don't see why we couldn't give it a try."

A wide smile formed on Li-Chen's face.

"I believe we have fully resolved this matter," said Zuko with a clap, "Now, onto the next—,"

Three mighty taps resonated from the chamber's double door. Knocking upon the High Councilmen Chamber thrice meant that there was a dire emergency—dire enough to cause for the disbanding of the daily discussions. And none were ever allowed to interrupt conversation within the fire lord's council. This was serious.

Si-Tong's jovial expression disappeared, his lips curving into a bitter frown. Zuko's blood pressure rose, his focus completely on the door across from the table. Izioh knit his eyebrows, and wielding his authority, summoned the messenger into the chamber.

The errand boy was a short, stalky young man, and currently—a breathless-nervous wreck. He sprinted in nearly tripping as a result of his own lack of footing. The boy bowed deeply, head facing the floor.

"Rise," said Zuko with earnest, "Why have you come here? What is the emergency?"

"It is your Uncle, my Lord," stuttered the boy, "He was found at the base of the palace gates… his breathing is shallow… and he has been badly hurt."

Zuko ripped himself from his throne.

"No…"

He then ran to the medical wing with anguish and speed, his elegant robes sweeping high into the air as they trailed him from behind, the sound of his cloak's furling like a signal of dismissal.

**. . .**

"Oh spirits… no!"

Zuko's Uncle lay on a large blood-stained cot. His eyes were tired and weary, and his skin pale and dry. He was alive, however. Iroh was still breathing, but the rhythmic beating of his once healthy heart was now fast and chaotic. A methodic clicking could be heard from his exposed chest, and his shirt had been savagely ripped to reveal a red diamond that protruded out from his skin. The diamond was a thing of pulsating, evil energy. The energy swirled around the physical crystal, like it was the home of some parasite.

"What did this to you?" Zuko cried, "I will see to it that they are hunted down! Not a day will go by where they can breathe easy in this world! The Fire Nation _will_ find this craven!"

"No…" Iroh murmured with a gravelly voice, his fingers shakily reaching for his nephew's face.

Zuko took his Uncle's hand and squeezed tightly.

"What do you mean!?"

"The creature that attacked me—it is far too powerful for any single nation to take on _alone_. The world must be united against it—only then would we stand a chance."

"Then I shall unite the four nations!"

"No Zuko! That will never work, not yet, at least. The situation is direr than I could have ever imagined. Katara, she is in grave danger."

Zuko's eyes widened.

"You must go and help your friends."

Iroh's eyes rolled as he coughed blood, his arms going momentarily slack. As his feeble hold of Zuko's hand weakened, his nephew's grip only tightened.

Iroh directed his gaze back to Zuko, his concentration deteriorating, and his voice fatigued.

"You do not understand. This world—and perhaps more—is in great danger of mass annihilation," Iroh hesitated, "Have you remembered of your invitation to Aang's eighteenth birthday party?"

Zuko's face reddened with bewilderment.

"Uncle, you're sick, this is not the time."

"No. You must go and do as you planned. No matter what happens, no matter what terrible events transpire—you must promise me that you will attend Aang's birthday."

"Uncle…"

"Zuko, promise me this."

Iroh was exhausted, his hold now completely unsteady.

"I promise."

"Good. There is one more thing."

"What is it?"

"The thing that attacked me—,"

Zuko's expression hardened with hatred.

"—you must—protect—your friends—it—,"

Iroh's hand fell from Zuko's, and he collapsed into a deep sleep.

Zuko wept, his tears shed from a mix of turmoil and confusion.

It had been raining outside.

Tiny droplets enveloped the building's roof in a camouflage of wet. This water poured down from the slanted structure, streaming to across the windows. After accumulating on the exterior sills, the liquid dripped through the air, landing on coatings of dirty earth.

And when the rain had made it to the end of its journey—silence.

**. . . **

"Ha… ha… ha," laughed the sinister shadow of a being, its malicious form licking power from the delectable darkness of night.

"Hey, Lord Miaximos, just why exactly did you attack that old fire bender?" The being chuckled hysterically, its sadistic tone rivalling a type of twisted personality.

"Julius, your questions, they are like poison to the ears, yet chocolate to the human mouth. Remind me why I haven't turned you into a squabbling incoherent nut?"

"Because I already am! AHAHAHAHA!"

"Right. The Great Conversion is coming, and you act like it's just a game."

"For us—it is."

"It isn't."

"Bah—you're no fun."

Miaximos spread his demonic wings, eyes of a scalding red glowing in the blackness of the void.

"Hey!" yelled Julius, annoyance rising in his sing-song of a voice, "You never answered my question!"

"It took you this long to figure that out?"

A mighty planet, wielding twelve colossal rings, appeared within the grasp of Miaximos' sharply curved claws. A purple droplet of violet energy fell from above. A single droplet, like a single aspect of sadness.

A single tear.

"Do you think they died in peace?" asked Miaximos.

Silence.

"Yes, I do believe that."

The void remained surrounded by hushed, expressionless features. Julius was replaced with a mirage of Miaximos. Miaximos counselled himself until the ends of time became satisfied with the charred remains of his emotions.

"Remind me, why have you chosen to do this? Why punish our youngest children? Why torture the human race? The avatar _will_ come after you, if you succeed."

"You think I should FEAR the avatar?"

"No. No primordial should fear a being so pathetic and weak. But you should fear what YOU might become."

"I have already become NOTHING! I am nothing!"

Miaximos screamed, his wrath filling the area with an aura of despair.

"Don't let Jaden take over! Don't let him _win_!"

Miaximos ended his rant, his breathing deliberately sluggish.

"You're right. _We_ must win. We must end this now. Let the Avatar come."

"What was that?" asked an incredulous Julius.

Miaximos paused, his consciousness returning.

"The Great Conversion is about to occur. The Avatar is about to learn of true suffering. And my people will soon be—AVENGED."

Madness, madness was the most blissful of states.

"My-oh-my, they're all going to die." Julius laughed and laughed.

And he did not stop.


	5. E1: Dreams and Scheme: Closing Part

**Episode 1: Dreams and Schemes; Part Closing**

Jaden held the purple rose, the final gift bestowed upon him, before the great calamity.

"Born from fires eternal of an everlasting creation," he said stepping forward.

He brought the rose close to his heart.

"A creation that spews flames as it does love."

He examined the rose, what a curious thing.

"And love, precious indeed."

The rose was now a bright, lustrous red.

"Yet, love, overshadowed by misplaced hatred,

Is what my soul yearns to cleanse."

The rose dimmed to a putrid black.

"But to cleanse hatred with darkness…"

A storm was brewing in the distance beyond. Powerful bursts of red lightning shot up from the ground, aiming for the sky's black clouds with elegance and poise.

"Is the same as to calm a raging sea of anger with powerful tsunamis of pain."

Jaden chuckled terribly, his face hidden beneath the chaos of hatred's hurricane.

"Yet pain, so sweet to the vengeful heart, is bitter to the mind, and corrosive to the soul."

Jaden fell to the ground, the wing of a demon sprouting from his left shoulder blade. The grotesque extension of his physical-self was a testament to his ugly past.

"But pain for me, is as everyday as light from the sun outshining the veil of night."

The image of all lovers, every rose, was split into distorted fragments within the confines of Jaden's perverted head. Their memories tarnished, the vastness of all flaws exposed.

"And as grotesque as the moon descending its glow from the sky upon the faces of lovers young."

Jaden threw the rose onto the soil, smiling.

"But why do I ponder when the end of pain and all that is sad, is near to the depressed,

Yet so far from those to whom joy comes as easy as the air we breathe,

Such irony, for the foul optimistic are fated to be shrouded in immortal fear."

A tear traversed across Jaden's cheek. The wing of an angel sprouted from his right shoulder blade. The gorgeous extension of his physical-self was a testament to his beautiful past.

"My life is but a pawn's in a jester's twisted game of checkers."

Jaden flexed his wings.

"My confessions: that I am the cause of suffering,

The passing mistrust,

And the ripples in the waters of inner-peace."

The human race: filthy, dirty, unworthy.

"My only regret: that I could not have empowered these emotions of yours.

So that you could understand my sufferings..."

_Ignorant. _

"My wretched wish for darkness to blot out light…"

_Meaningless._

"And feel my pain."

_Unfeeling._

Jaden was a mess of emotions. A stew of boiling mistakes.

"For one who suffers the hardships, is the true saviour of the gem-less soul."

Jaden picked up the rose.

"So remember, when hope is lost,

And when evil boils from the surface of the steaming lake that is your own precious soul,

And _when_ morality bleeds out from your veins, feeding the well of ascending spite—know that I—will care not."

Jaden thought of the lucky _one_. The clueless primordial of past.

"You, like _I_, will smolder in your own foul vessel,

Until the ends of time become satisfied with the charred remains of your emotions—from which all dreams derived.

And all nightmares summoned."

Jaden thought: not _you_.

"When you do depart from this realm, know that the love once held in the recesses of my heart is spent.

For what can be expected from the gem-less heart, when its purpose is void and meaning lost."

Jaden cried out, pain and anger consuming his heart.

"Lovers are dead, and _I_, equally, for the day soul companion passed, was the day the earth ceased its rotations,

This was the day when the stars blew out, like delicate flames atop a melting candle wax,

When victory's glory was shrouded in the horror of the moment,

This was the instant, when I heard the voice: like a sword piercing my heart, mind, and soul,

It spoke of destiny, of freedom."

_Manipulation._

"Of an end to conflict—an end to the slavery of mortality, of living."

_Acceptance._

"The coming of the forsaken one,

The glimmering white comet,

Is when my anger might be quenched.

Anger once fed from the crimes of humanity,

From the sin of living,

And of course:

The perverted gem."

Jaden's wings pulsated a deep red, his sclera now purple.

"For this was a sign from the heavens, an angel from the house of _Keepers_,

A thing so gorgeous the windows that are mortal eyes were unfit to behold its holy form,

It was an epiphany, an epiphany I had had,

An epiphany, a single miniscule dream, which will change how the earth goes about its rotations,

When the stars will end their lives,

And when nightmares will be born from the wet cobblestones of ancient temple time,

The carvers of which shall fall into eternal slumber—while comet white draws near."

Jaden laughed and laughed. The demonic boy, the Creator—all fools.

"My epiphany, source of the fiery tempest—is to cleanse the heavens.

My epiphany is to slaughter the sleeping carvers and leave nothing left,

But the ashes of sorrow,

The dust from whence they came,

And a single gem."

Jaden held out the rose, as if offering a sacrifice.

"For if the gem is to be denied from the gem-less soul, then all will feel the wrath of the maelstrom brewing in my gem-less vessel."

_Take it._

"And when gem most precious is at last placed on the sleeping sorrow,

None shall pluck it from the chosen resting grave."

The rose burned to ashes.

_The rose burned to ashes._

"For to comprehend the beauty of the gem is nigh impossible,

When your heart, gem-less, is yours—for end-less time."

Jaden knelt before the _Keeper_.

"You speak of the truth: your goals—irrelevant. White comet—bringer of retribution.

I will destroy Creation—and leave nothing left—,"

He paused.

"—But a single gem."

**. . .**

_Iroh:_ "The creature that attacked me—it—

—it spoke of a gem. A single gem. Find this gem, Zuko. Find it before it is too late."

Silence.

"Your friends are in grave danger."

**END OF CHAPTER**


	6. E2: Preparations and Temptations: P1

**Episode 2: Preparations and Temptations; Part 1**

"_There are many who believe that spirits are not the most ancient of beings. Primordials, the scribes of past claim, created both spirits and humans with the use of a mysterious gem. If this is true, some theories even go so far as to propose that these primordials created six realms in the image of their own. Two of these realms are the human and spirit worlds, we know for sure."—"Mystical Gods of the Avva" –author, unknown_

**. . .**

Zuko strode out of the medical wing with a hand on his pulsating forehead.

He was baffled and disoriented, resentful and enraged. A slurry of emotions slushed around in the blender that was his head, forming a murky mixture of incomprehensible pain. Standing mutely outside the door to his uncle's bedside, he watched as nurses scurried across the halls, frantically attending to their sickly patients.

What had Iroh meant? How could he even be thinking about Aang's birthday party at a time like this? And what _was_ the crystal that was stabbed deep in his flesh?

"You there," Zuko called angrily to a nurse in green.

She reluctantly halted her jogging, and awkwardly bowed to her king.

"What is wrong with my uncle? What have you learned about that _thing_ in his chest?"

"We have no idea what it is," she said in a bewildered tone, clearly as perplexed as he, "Our best surgeons are trying to figure out how to remove it."

"What about the clicking noise?"

The nurse looked at her lord with a puzzled expression forming on her anxious face.

"The clicking," Zuko repeated impatiently, "There was a clicking noise coming from the crystal! Did you not hear it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she said courtly, "Forgive me."

Zuko dismissed her, his mind a mess with worry.

And what of the man that had attacked his uncle? Iroh had described him as a _thing_, and less like a _human_ thing. And what was that about Katara being in danger? No, Iroh had sullenly stated that she was in _grave_ danger. Zuko yelled aloud in frustration.

_What difference does the extra word make!?_

Zuko noticed Mr. Izioh running from across the corridor, his steps rushed and filled with speechless worry. When the elderly councilman was standing next to the fire lord, he did not bother to bow. Zuko and Izioh's relationship was a close one, and through the span of the past three years they had kindled a bond making them inseparable friends.

"_Sire_ Zuko," spoke the old man breathlessly, "I am concerned for your well-being. I became frightened when I saw you in such distress. What has happened to Iroh?"

Izioh had known Iroh for the good majority of his lifetime.

"My uncle was brutally attacked," murmured Zuko. The fire lord urgently recounted his conversation with Iroh, and fell silent upon completion of his summary.

Izioh, his characteristically reserved self, spoke nothing at first. His eyes wandered to the floor, his head bent solemnly.

"I am so sorry."

"What do you think he meant?" asked Zuko, "Do you really think I should go to Aang's birthday celebration? Are my friends really in danger?"

"I don't know," said Izioh with a scratch of his chin, "But if I _do_ know anything about Iroh—it's that he doesn't request for anything unnecessarily."

"In other words?"

"In other words," the councilman spoke carefully, "I think you should consider your uncle's—_recommendations_—with great care."

Zuko nodded. What Izioh was saying made sense, albeit neutral.

"I'm sorry for concerning you with my personal issues, friend. It's just that… lately, everything's been so…" Zuko forced back tears. _He would not cry._ _He never cried._

"Overwhelming?" offered Izioh calmly, "I can't imagine how hard it must be to rule a nation. All the paperwork, stress, and politics are enough to break any man's moral! But you, you're carrying all the responsibilities, the duties—and you're merely a child! Though, to be fair, you are the best fire lord this country has seen in generations, if not ever."

Zuko allowed himself a tiny smile of pride. Izioh's compliments were genuine, he knew.

"After the war, when you freed me from my prison," continued the council member, "You asked me why I had refused Ozai as my fire lord. Why I had chosen humiliation over honour. I told you that there is certainly honour in humiliation, if that humiliation is derived from the scoffing of honourable deeds. I then told you that honour is an illusion used by others to control one's destiny."

Zuko silently listened to Izioh's recount of the past.

"But I wasn't being completely honest. If honour comes from pride in selflessness, than that is something truly beautiful. Something worth fighting for.

And you, fire lord Zuko, you are the most beautiful thing that has happened to this nation in over one-hundred years."

"I'm flattered, really," said Zuko with complete conviction, "But how is this supposed to help me eliminate my stress?"

Izioh paused, thoughtfully scratching his forehead.

"Oh… is that what this conversation was supposed to be about?"

Zuko was quiet.

Izioh pursed his lips.

The two men burst into laughter. Zuko could feel the stress of his situation seeping away, if not for a moment at least. Izioh placed a reassuring hand on Zuko's shoulder.

"Thank you, Izioh; you seem to have a knack for cheering me up."

"It has become my specialty."

**. . . **

_Drip, drip, drip._

Droplets of water fell from the crack in the ceiling, their color a smudgy brown. Parachuting into the stone beneath him, they split in tiny explosions of liquid and dirt.

Ozai stared at the drumming of the downpour for hours. His expression was blank, his eyes dull. Hair strewn and tangled, feet blistered and uncomfortable… his once historically intimidating demeanor had all but melted. The rage that once filled his wrathful heart had forsaken him, leaving only an empty vessel of rotting flesh.

And vessels like these—_could be filled. _

**. . .**

Katara awoke cradling her brother in her arms.

She gently placed the snoring Sokka atop his sleeping baggie, being careful as to not accidentally scrape his head across the sides of Appa's tough saddle.

Katara then rotated herself so that she was facing the sky bison's neck. Aang was awake, sitting leisurely between Appa's horns.

"You two had a good sleep?"

Katara nodded, forgetting that Aang's back was turned.

"Katara," Aang started, "Can I ask you why we're exactly _going_ to the North Pole?"

Katara crawled her way towards her boyfriend, her tone mischievous.

"Oh, it's my father. He's hosting the annual Southern Music Festival."

"I've never known of such a festival."

"Well you obviously don't know much then."

"Really?" Aang challenged, his eyes playful, "Do _you_ know how to catch a squid-monkey?"

"No, not really. But maybe you could teach me some day," she laughed.

Aang grinned, proceeding with his press for details.

"Okay, so about this music festival…"

"I told you—it's an annual event! Happens every year."

"That's just the thing. If it happens every year, then how come we haven't gone to one before?"

"Because Sokka doesn't like music."

"But then why are we going this year?"

"I've managed to convince him."

"What did you offer? Was it blackmail?"

"No," Katara shrugged, "I asked him nicely."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

They were quiet for a moment. Appa roared a happy bellow.

"How many more days do you think it will be before we pass the equator?"

"One, I think. So long that we don't run into any sand storms we should be fine."

_Great Conversion_.

The avatar peered up at the clouds, his eyes sparkling with dreamy fascination.

"Aang, are you alright?" asked Katara, sensing that something was amiss.

The teen was caught off guard, and he shook his head rigorously.

"It was nothing. I'm fine, really."

Awkward silence devoured the atmosphere of the conversation with a giggling lust.

"Katara?"

"Yes Aang?"

"Have you ever felt, like… that you were scared… but had no one to talk to about it?"

Katara hugged Aang ferociously. Ever since his awkwardness with her at the North Pole's spiritual centre, she had been concerned about his periodic and ominous bouts of confusion.

"But you _do_ have someone you can talk to."

Aang glanced to the desert below.

"I only wish…"

Katara pulled her boyfriend closer, studying his face closely.

"What's wrong Aang?"

_The Great Conversion is coming. Do not speak of these words to anyone; lest your carefree nature be the end of us both. _

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

Aang gently pushed Katara away.

**. . .**

Ozai could sense the guard approach his prison before hearing the footsteps. His intuition, he knew, was something he would never surrender to the hopelessness of depression.

The retired phoenix king listened attentively as the guard began to unlock the gate to his cell's room. The door opened slightly, allowing for a tall man to sprint briskly into the smelly chamber. The towering figure of the warden loomed over Ozai's huddling form, a snort escaping his nostrils.

"The all-powerful fire lord Ozai, look at what you've become."

The old fire lord chose not to address the intimidating character, smirking instead.

"You're a pathetic bag of filth. Uncaring, narcissistic, and a scoundrel."

Ozai was used to mockery. He ignored it with the impassiveness of a master.

"This is why _I need you_."

Ozai spun around in surprise, looking through his bars with a rising interest.

"What do you want… warden? Are you suggesting that we… make a deal?"

"Of sorts," smiled the warden, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Ozai scratched his chin, his mind beginning to formulate new ideas. Plans, schemes… they were all coming back to him now. All of those troublesome emotions.

_And oh how they felt so sweet!_

"But you're not going to like this deal."

The prisoner frowned.

"Why not?" he asked in his raspy voice. Ozai did not appreciate being played for the fool.

"Because I've changed my mind. I'm going to do this myself."

Before Ozai could protest, a silent purple energy hurtled out from the warden's chest, galloping straight into the horrified ex-fire bender's soul. A flash of magnificent purple light enveloped the room with a _mad giggle._

An hour passed. Two hours.

The light vanished. No one had entered the room, and the warden lay unconscious.

Ozai was kneeling on the ground, his breathing cool and controlled, his face hidden beneath the long strands of his disheveled hair.

His grimy smile was unsettling.

He lifted his head slowly, eyes becoming visible in the dim light of the room.

One was yellow, and the other—blue.


	7. E2: Preparations and Temptations: P2

"_After the great calamity, only __six primordials remained—and perhaps the remains of one ("Mystical Gods of the Avva," 93). No one is quite sure what caused the calamity; let alone what it actually was. Nothing could match the power of a primordial. Ancient legends state that a single primordial could destroy entire planets. Perhaps this is an exaggeration, perhaps not. The primary point I would like to make here, is that I theorize this so-called "Great Calamity," was nothing more than the most gruesome civil war in the history of conflicts. Imagine: gods fighting gods—primordial vs. primordial, essentially. Such an event would have truly been worthy of knighting: "Calamity." What we also don't know… is who these six surviving primordials are. Each would certainly have its own agenda… which could spell prosperity or doom for the future of this realm." —"Abhorrent Calamity of the Avva" –author, unknown _

**. . . **

The fire palace gardens were a gorgeous place for a jog. Rays from the golden sun shone upon the grass, giving each blade's green lustre of unrivalled quality. The apple trees' boughs swayed in the gentle wind, their leaves whistling to the songs of the air. Turtle ducks swam in a shimmering blue pond. Jets of tiny ripples formed as the animals parted the water with their paddling.

Zuko had decided on a short walk along some intricately crafted pathways. The flat rocks that composed these trails had been painstakingly cut, polished, and refined before they had been allowed residence in the palace's soil. Each step the fire lord took was like a seamless trek completed across the fruits of another's labour. This made him only further appreciate his short time here.

The troubled teen had much on his mind. He had many difficult decisions to make, and not enough time in which he could use to make them. His uncle had been attacked…and Aang had a birthday. The events were unrelated. Yet, why would his wise uncle rashly ask him to so suddenly forget about his injuries and attend an event of such superficial importance?

"Zuko, are you alright?" asked a kind voice from behind.

The fire bender turned to face Suki, who had snuck up on him from behind without so much as generating a single noise. The kyoshi warrior's white war paint had been carefully smeared across her face, and she wore her green armor with pride evident in her delicately calculated strides.

"I'm fine," snapped Zuko, sounding more annoyed than he had intended.

"Wow, okay, sorry fire lord," she answered with a certain air of respect, before quietly muttering, "_I only asked a question._"

Zuko's expression softened upon notice of a red streak that had been unprofessionally painted across Suki's forehead.

"Um… you have a little—," he said with a point to his brow.

Suki touched the top of her head with the tips of her fingers, examining the red with a look of distaste.

"Ty Lee!" she exclaimed.

"Here, let me."

The girl closed her eyes as Zuko retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe the troublesome blotch away. When finished, he laughed:

"Ty Lee is still up to her old tricks."

"Yah, well I'd be grinning too if it hadn't been me who got _tricked_."

"Not much of a prank if you ask me. You wouldn't believe half the things she and Azula did to me when we were kids."

"Try me."

"Azula once placed a flaming apple on Mai's head, knowing I would try to remove it. We ended up falling into a fountain together."

"That's it?"

"Well," said Zuko reminiscing, "There was this other time when Azula said that my dad was going to try to murder me. And, well, I guess that wasn't really a prank…"

Zuko had effectively killed the conversation.

"Right," said Suki with a fold of her arms, "Look Zuko, I came here because I heard about what happened to your uncle."

Zuko eyed the girl mildly, his expression unreadable.

"I'm so sorry," she continued, looking to the grass with novel interest.

Zuko was quiet.

"He wants me to go to Aang's eighteenth birthday party."

Suki straightened her hair, inspecting her friend curiously.

"Aang's birthday? Oh, right—that's in the South Pole, isn't it? I was actually planning to go there with the rest of the kyoshi warriors."

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"Well… yah! Aang's our _friend_!"

"Well, I hope you and your fighters have a good time."

"They're my _sisters! _And wait… You're not coming too?"

"How can I?" burst the fire lord, "I have a nation to rule!"

"There's nothing wrong with taking it easy and relaxing for a few days."

"I don't have time to relax!" he yelled, eyes bulging, and forehead veins showing.

"Then what were you doing before I came?"

"That was different!"

"Uh-huh," Suki said with a chuckle, "I think I'll leave you alone."

With nothing more to say, she walked briskly away from her patriarch's presence. Zuko was left to stand and think. And think he did.

**. . .**

Appa flew high into the sky. The bison's fur covered back danced with the breeze, and the riders on his saddle closed their eyes in anticipation of whipping resistance. Katara's face was immediately cooled; this facilitating her liberation from the onslaught of the blazing sun's scorching rays.

Aang's smile widened as the group was lifted higher and higher into the clouds. Sokka stood with his legs spread apart, and arms flailing wildly in the air. This pitiful attempt to amplify the refrigeration of his skin made him look akin to an ostrich-vulture.

"This is great!" laughed Aang over the roaring of obnoxious wind.

"Yah!" agreed Sokka, "This _is_ a perfect way to combat the humidity!"

The misty grey of hazy desert clouds sped swiftly past the three friends.

"Hey, look, over there!" Katara exclaimed.

She was pointing to the desert's surface, which had sporadically transformed in the most unusual of ways. The sand in this area had dimmed to a putrid black, and a strange smoke-like vapour rose from its surface with elegant swirly spirals.

"Woah," was all Katara could muster, "What do you think that is?"

"I don't know, and I'm not about ready to find out," chuckled a shaky Sokka.

Aang was instantly drawn to stare deeply into the mysterious frothing sea of darkly shaded dirt. He shook his head vigorously, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Suspicion aroused from seemingly—nothing.

"I agree with Sokka," spoke Aang seriously, "My instincts are telling me that we should leave."

"Oh!" exasperated the young warrior, "Someone finally agrees with me! Thanks for taking _my_ side, Aang."

Katara addressed her brother with a raise of her eyebrows. She took one last glance at the sand, her demeanour darkening with the earth below.

"Whatever," she said apprehensively, "If you think that's the right thing to do—then I'm all for leaving."

"Of course Aang is right to ignore this! For all we know, it could just be some sort of natural disaster."

"Right," Katara said whilst studying her boyfriend's expressionless face, "Aang, are you _really_ sure about this?"

Aang was silent. Appa had nearly passed this depressing locale of the desert.

"I'm sure," he said firmly.

The eerie black of the menacing expanse became but a dot in the far distance. And soon, this dot disappeared, leaving only miles of yellow in its wake.

**. . . **

Jaden stared at the bison as it passed overhead, the sand a gruesome color beneath his feet.

He smiled.

"Where is my gem?"

"_Master."_

Zeimos appeared before Jaden, configuring himself from a column of icy blue energy. _Infinitium_ crackled around the primordial as he stood from a kneeling position, long golden hair sweeping to across his back.

"Is it time for me to take her heart?"

"No."

Zeimos looked surprised, his blue eyes squinting in calm confusion.

"The avatar… must first meet his new play mates. This is what I have discerned," said Jaden sternly.

"He is to gain new team members?"

"Yes."

"Then what of me? When will I retrieve the girl's heart?"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Forgive me," begged Zeimos curtly, prostrating himself before the angry primordial.

"Perhaps. What do you know of leverage?"

"Leverage? It is used for... attaining what one desires through the extortion of another."

"Exactly. The heart is a symbol. Just cause the avatar suffering. And as much as possible."

"Through the girl."

"You learn quickly."

Zeimos closed his eyes, two angelic-crystalline wings sprouting from his shoulder blades.

"I will not fail you. As soon as the new members join this avatar's little _group_… I will strike."

"The Great Conversion is fast approaching… we'd best accelerate its arrival."

Zeimos snorted.

"I thought…" he pondered, "We were supposed to stop The Great Conversion."

"No."

"Master?"

"Our purpose—"

Jaden laughed horribly, a sick madness revealing itself from within the tendrils of his perverted conscious.

"Our purpose," he repeated, "Is to progress LIFE. We must save the humans from Miaximos."

"Doesn't that mean stopping the Conversion?"

"You will understand in time."

"Of course."

With that, Zeimos disappeared in a blast of powerful energy, his form deteriorating into miniscule particles of blue. A frosty fog exuded itself from where the primordial had stood only moments before.

"I'm such a horrible liar."

Jaden laughed vehemently.

**. . .**

**"Oh, and it doesn't _symbolize_ anything—do what you think is _right_."**

**"The heart is a _symbol_."**

_**Paradoxical being... paradoxical being... come to us and cry.**_

**"For to understand the beauty of the gem is nigh impossible, when your heart, gem-less, is yours for end-less time."**

**"It was stated that the primordials created all life with a single gem..."**

**__****Man... paradoxical being... come to us and cry.**

**__****Paradoxical being****__****... paradoxical being... now.**

**__********__****Beast... paradoxical being... come to us and cry.**

**__********__********__****Paradoxical being... once... come to us and cry.**

**__****Paradoxical being... paradoxical being... truth teller.**

**__********__****Will... paradoxical being... come to us and cry.**

******__****COME TO US AND CRY. **


	8. E2: Preparations and Temptations: P3

_Primordials have two forms. The Larvae and the Ultimatix. The Larvae has three abilities. One of these powers is dependent on the individual primordial. The two primary abilities include spontaneous teleportation and psychic reflexes. Both of these make all primordials formidable foes. _

_Some accounts claim that bending, and any sort of physical offense, is useless due to the latter ability. The speedy reflexes of the primordial are a very real threat—these creatures can move so nimbly that it will appear as if they are vibrating—and when one attempts to strike their energetic bodies—spirit or human—the result will be a penetration of nothing but empty space. _

_The second form is the Ultimatix. Primordials can enter this god-like state in sections. What I mean by this is that they can configure certain aspects of their larvae into the Ultimatix—like a hand, for instance. Of course, they can completely transform into Ultimatix, but let us hope that you will never be around to witness the carnage that would surely ensue. When an Ultimatix, primordials sprout wings, and their humanoid larvae becomes alien. They also gain one other ability, which is exclusive to each primordial. _

_All primordials, in any form, rely on infinity shards to amplify their powers (which are invisible to us mortals). Each can also bend a uniquely _colored_ energy known as Infinitum. _

_These prehistoric titans predate the avatar, spirits, and lion turtles. _

_Primordials are not to be trifled with. Challenge one, even the weakest of the lot, and you will surely meet a fate more gruesome than simple death. _

–"_Primordials Morphology: Aspects and Limits" —author unknown_

**. . .**

Si-Tong sat at his finely crafted wooden work desk; the dim light of candle flames illuminating his parchment's black ink. Writing letters could be an arduous task, especially when they were meant to be addressed to his superior. But this was not always the cumbersome case.

Today he was composing a letter to his family. It was something he had been looking forward to for the entirety of this tiresome day. As he carefully stroked the letters onto his scroll, the competition between paper and feather generated some gravelly scratch of a noise. It was for this reason that he liked using feathers—they created the music of effort and production. Both were a sweet song to his ears.

_Dear Alexandra (my eternal sweet),_

_How's Ba-Sing-Se?_

_Is the weather good?_

_I was overjoyed upon hearing of your grand political success! The news is truly spectacular—getting the earth king to send more food rations to the poverty stricken colonies—wonderful work! _

_I am so proud of you. Needless to say, I know._

_How are the kids?_

_If memory serves, Ace was very excited to learn of what you do, and visit your office. Tempest was a bit sick: did it turn out to be strep throat like I predicted? I hope she's better now. Give them both a kiss from me._

_Also, before you guys come back, maybe you should take a detour to the South Pole? I heard there's a surprise birthday event for the avatar's eighteenth, and it's going to be a huge public affair. Anyone and everyone can come, they say!_

_How the world has managed to keep this a secret from the avatar, I have no idea. _

_It doesn't matter though, I suppose—but I'm just curious—the earth king was planning on attending too—am I not right?_

_Give the kids another kiss, okay? Oh, and you get one too (close your eyes, imagine the kiss floating towards your cheek, ready to peck—good!). _

_All fooling around aside—I love you all so much—and am eager to hear of your travels when you return home, safe. _

_Your husband and ever-faithful,_

_Si_

There was a knock on Si-Tong's door. The noise of incessant rapping goaded him to grudgingly rise from his seat, so that he could trudge his way down the stairs. Upon arrival at the entryway, he opened to door with a graceful swing.

The kind eyes of Councilman Izioh met with Si's.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" smiled Si while straightening his back.

The two men clapped palm and fist together: the traditional symbol of respectable greeting.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

Si shrugged. He had completed his letter, and no longer had any commitments in need of fulfillment.

"Of course."

Si-Tong led the councilor into the confines of his dimly lit home, allowing Izioh to remove his jacket before proceeding down an elaborately decorated sapphire-colored corridor. Upon entering Si's highly furbished living quarters, Izioh nodded with appreciation before silently taking his comfortably cushioned seat.

Si left for a moment to start the tea. Izioh waited a moment for the tea to boil.

When the general returned, he poured a cup for them both, steam curling delicately from the sides of their hot flower petal mugs.

"Mm," breathed Izioh after taking a prolonged, taste-bud melting sip, "Just the way I like it… thank you."

"You're most welcome. I assume you just popped in to chat?"

Izioh slurped another mouthful of tea, his face pouty and red.

"Yes, you assumed correctly."

Si-Tong nodded slowly.

"I was most impressed," continued Izioh, "with the influential speech you addressed to the council this morning. You're a natural."

"Oh, that," laughed Si, modesty engulfing his tone, "That was nothing."

"Right," spoke Izioh carefully, "But you shouldn't be so speedy to dismiss your impressive displays. These are the keys to upgrading your political status, you know."

"I have no interest in rising further through this hierarchy. I am already at the peak of the mountain."

"Perhaps you're right," chuckled Izioh, "Iroh once told me that power _was_ overrated."

"Iroh?" Si commented with a wrinkle of confusion, "Oh yes—you must be referring the fire lord's uncle. Terrible what happened to him—tragic."

"Yes," sighed Izioh in a dreamy voice, "He and I go way back."

"Entertain me."

Izioh lapped another bout of tea, his face a tangled mix of sadness and joy.

"When we were children, fire lord Azulon and my father, General Gaul-Dong, would convene for their weekly 'war meetings.' Little did Iroh and I suspect that they were nothing more than terrible ploys meant only to advance the corrupt influence of this once dictatorial regime."

Si listened respectfully before commenting:

"Sounds about right."

"But while they plotted," said Izioh with a dismissive wave of his hands, "I and Iroh played for hours. We would have so much fun feeding the turtle ducks… pranking Ozai. It was a perfect life—_too_ perfect."

"And then you grew older."

"Yes, we grew older. Iroh married a lovely woman—and I became a general myself."

"You—a general?"

"Oh yes, you see—this was my father's dream for me. To serve the royal family and help rule the nation… just as his father, and grandfather before him had."

"I see…" mused Si, "But was this what _you_ wanted?"

Izioh scrunched his eyebrows.

"To be honest, I wasn't so sure at the time. I was conflicted, actually—between my father's vision of who I _should_ be—and my vision of whom I _was_."

"So what happened?"

"I partook in my first mission."

"Which was?"

Izioh laughed loudly, whispering in a playful tone:

"Top secret. Even the current fire lord has no clue what I did."

"Really?" asked Si with intrigue.

"I returned to the Fire Nation after many hard and savage years. I was immediately summoned to Azulon—who told me to keep my mouth shut. And even though I had and still have no respect for that horrible man—I dare say he was right about this one thing."

"Is that all?"

"Well, it was then that I also learned of the siege of Ba Sing Se. And that Iroh had lost his only son to the war."

"Sounds depressing."

"It was."

There was a short silence. The tea had become bitter and chilled; leaves dangled in their cups like aimless voyagers at sea.

"I heard you were in jail for a few years?" posed Si.

"Yes, when Ozai rose to power he had me arrested. Let's just say we didn't see eye to eye. That man was ten times worse than his father—a real monster. Iroh tried to get me out, but to no avail. He visited me almost every day though. Even said goodbye to me before leaving the country with his banished nephew—fire lord Zuko."

Izioh paused before asking:

"What about you?"

Si-Tong lowered his tea, staring at the floor with a squint of his eyes.

"I grew up in the Southern Water Tribe."

The councilman's eyes widened to the size of golf balls.

"The what?"

"The Southern Water Tribe. I had a brother… and a water bender for a father."

"That must have been dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"For your mother—I assume she was a fire bender?"

"Yes," nodded Si, "She was. But we kept it a secret from the rest of the tribe."

"I would think so."

"I wasn't allowed to bend. My brother often made fun of me for that."

"How did you… end up… you know… here?"

"Long story."

"I like long stories."

"I think I'll summarize, Mr. Top Secret. My father and brother died, and soon after my mother and I returned to the fire nation."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Si shrugged.

"I'm over it. I've had years to weep."

Izioh scratched his chin.

"You married?" Izioh asked.

"Yah: two kids. Girl and a boy. You?"

"Nah."

Izioh stood up from his chair, bowing curtly to the general.

"I would have loved to continue chatting, but I fear the day is approached its end. I'm going to visit Iroh."

Si was next to stand, his face brimming with compassion.

"How about we meet another time? A tea shop, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," trailed Izioh, "Yes, actually. I would like that very much."

The two men shook hands before swiftly departing from the room.

**. . .**

The warden of the boiling rock stood tirelessly, his eyes scanning the horizon while his head dipped in frustration. The new prisoners were to arrive today. This was to be a clean operation—quick—and seamless. The warden had received a note from the fire lord himself, requesting that he personally attend to this _retrieval_.

At first, he had been flabbergasted, shocked even—that such a request would be so suddenly made. But he shouldn't have been surprised. The boiling rock was meant to hold the worst of fire nation scum. Some of these men were imprisoned for burning entire swaths of villages. Others were dangerous kleptomaniacs who had stolen the most precious of gemstones using the most unruly of criminal tactics.

The pod was now visible in the far distance. He could see the metal cell steaming towards his jail's roof; the cables that facilitated cart movement pulsating with blue electric current.

"Bring her in!" the warden yelled over the screeching of metal on wire.

The pod moved more slowly as it neared its destination, steam blasting out from its large ceiling's vents. Upon reaching the roof it came to a forced halt, dirty smoke surrounding its exterior like a snake constricting unwary prey. The warden coughed and sputtered, wiping his eyes with angry strokes.

"I thought I said to clean the pipes!" he screamed impatiently.

"Sorry general," spoke the jailor as his pod's door opened, "We'll get right on that. It's just that—,"

"—just what?" snapped the warden, "When I tell you to do something—you damn better well do it!"

"No, of course, my apologies sir," the jailor stuttered nervously, "It's just that the prisoner—well I guess we just forgot—that's all."

"What about the prisoner?"

"He's not the normal type we see here. He's crazy. Absolutely nuts—this one is. Nearly threw me into the water."

The warden blinked.

"Get him into the cooler," he ordered to the jailor, "I want to interrogate him—pronto. Insubordination requires a firm hand."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir."

"Excuse me?"

"See sir… he's an earth bender."

"Really," said the warden whilst scratching his ear, "And how exactly does the fire lord expect us to hold an earth bender captive?"

"Um… perhaps the wooden cell—sir."

"Oh, right," huffed the warden, "Very well: send him to the bark cage."

"Right away sir."

**. . .**

Samael licked his lips in anticipation. Rubbing his cold hands together, he eyed the wood that was his prison, chuckling with a craze unmatched by the _others_. Those fools. They were unworthy, unknowing, _weak_. They were too afraid to challenge him—cowards. So instead, they had locked him here, in this place. This damned area, this forsaken cell that smelled of blood and death and suffering.

His flat, silver hair was jagged and uneven. His right eye was covered completely, while his left was exposed to the element air. It shone a ghostly white.

His once extravagant silk robes were torn and tattered beyond repair. His lips were curved into a sadistic smile, and his face was smeared with dirt and red.

He could hear guards' footsteps from the corridor beyond. They were elegant, victorious strides. Samael loved this. These despicable people had absolutely no _idea. _

**. . .**

It had been six hours. The warden was wary to approach such a supposedly dangerous prisoner. He shouldn't have been, of course—but all the same—after everything he had been told… No, he would not fall to fear. Fear was a purposeless emotion that grabbed the soul, and stole one's sense.

He was the _warden_. The boss. The chief. He was going to enter that room, take charge of the interrogation, and force the rat to squeal. He was powerless, detained, and severely beaten. The prisoner had to be disciplined _now_. _Now_ was the time, when he was cornered, fearful, cowering—that he had to learn to respect the chain of command. Control. It was all about control. If they did not learn to possess the prisoner—he would eventually possess them.

The warden remembered hearing stories. Horrible stories of incompetent leaders who fell victim to the predator weakness. Such people were eventually overtaken by the very individuals who they once attempted to train. In these situations, where the reins were handed to the horse, disaster and pell-mell always followed.

The door was slammed open. _Had he just slammed it?_—or had it only been a harsh swing? The prisoner could be seen clearly through the brown bars. His visible left-iris a haunting white. The warden attempted not to gag at the stench of the cell, which was similar to that of a carrion brimming battlefield. This room had seen many suicidal benders.

The warden cleared his throat.

The unhidden eye of the scum drew its attention to the warden, a smile forming on the prisoner's grimy face.

_Was he mocking him? Was he unafraid?_ _He had to remain in _control._ The prisoner was the horse._

_The galloping horse._

"So," spoke the warden slowly, choosing his words with care, "you're gonna' be in here for the rest of your stinkin' days. Filth like you deserves no better."

The prisoner was silent, his eyes gleaming with… was that _amusement_?

"You see, I'm in charge here. So if you don't want to spend your time grovelling and scraping for food—you'd better stay on my good side."

The horse was silent. The warden squinted as he attempted to read the prisoner's expression. It was featureless now, emotionless.

"So you're the silent type, eh? That's good, I won't have to listen to you beg for release when you're beat."

A wave of anger spontaneously consumed the warden with a watery embrace. He approached the prisoner until they were face to face. Neither man spoke. All that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the warden.

"Do you think it was worth it?" he questioned the psychopath, "Killing all those people. Was it worth it?"

No response.

"You know, some of those townsfolk were children. _Children._ What was the point? What is it that you think you've achieved?"

Samael looked up with reverence. For the first time since his capture, his torture here, he spoke. He whispered one word. A single word.

"_Ozai_."

The warden looked at Samael curiously. But then his face paled. The horse had stolen the reins. Samael grinned.

The warden ran out from the room. He found the jailor standing studiously outside the prisoner's door. Sweaty and disoriented, he grabbed the jailor and shook him madly to his knees.

"Send word to the fire lord immediately!"

"What…?" stated the jailor in confusion.

"I…" the warden paused, his mind ringing with panic, "I have reason to believe that Ozai has escaped his tower."


	9. E2: Preparations and Temptations: P4

_Primordial Profile: Julius D'Kân_

_Psychopathic nutcase. Bastard just tore off my arm. Looks like a kid—but he's a dangerous one alright. Bends __**purple**__ infinitium. That's rare. It means he can—_

_Julius is misunderstood. His ideals, so crystal clear—so filled with purpose. I will never doubt his great structure. His grand plan. _

_We are dust, less than dirt. _

_We exist to serve primordials. _

_Journal #2; Entry 43 –author unknown_

**. . . **

Aang closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he let the wind kick past his face. The cool air brought with it a welcoming chill that made his adrenaline rush. He could sit like this forever, meditating upon his peaceful existence.

But then he remembered. That malicious voice. _The Great Conversion._

He shivered with discomfort upon thought of the _words_. Those terrible _words_—they were like an ill prophecy—or evil omen.

Aang felt sudden warmth.

Katara wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's chest. She snuggled close to him—close enough to feel his breathing—and his soft, controlled hums.

"I love you," she whispered.

Aang was quiet, as his heart was pumping erratically—confused by the conflicting emotions: fear and joy.

"I'm scared," he finally admitted, "Terrified, really."

"I know," she answered softly, her grip tightening.

The two were silent. The yellow abyss below was slowly transforming into a montage of curvy green. Hills and valleys could now be spotted from afar, their tiny forms growing larger with every beat of Appa's beaver-like tail.

Aang took a shaky breath.

"But I'm not sure why I'm feeling this fear."

Katara examined Aang thoughtfully, her eyes glowing in the moonlight.

"You wanted to tell me something back in the North, didn't you?"

"Yah," said Aang worriedly, "I did."

Katara did not push further. Aang had to decide as to what he was going to say next.

"I was told that I couldn't tell anybody about—well—_something_. And if I did, that I'd be in danger."

"You can tell me _anything_. I'd never let anyone hurt you."

Aang truly wanted to believe Katara.

After all, he _had_ defeated Ozai: the once incredibly powerful_ fire lord._ And he _was_ the avatar, the most powerful bender in the world. Surely, there was nothing he should be afraid of. Yet, the emotion lingered there, like nasty food stuck between his teeth.

"I'm sorry Katara."

Katara examined Aang, perplexed.

"What do you mean?"

"I just can't. I can't tell you."

Katara tightly squeezed Aang's hand, her grip unyielding.

"You need to tell me what's wrong. You have to."

They stared at each other a moment, neither making an exchange.

Aang began to shiver uncontrollably.

"Aang!" Katara yelled.

But he was already unconscious.

**. . . **

Miaximos sat leisurely upon his writhing throne. From behind this grotesque chair, tendrils of red snapped to and fro, their appalling forms vibrating with a pure malicious glee. His humongous, twisted horns reached to the height of the amethyst ceiling—located five yards above. The creature's hooves were that of a demonic goat's, and they spewed spouts of sporadic blood-colored flames.

The Ultimatix's scar-shaped eyes were a dreadful crimson, and they shone with the intensity of a thousand unblinking stars. The wings of a dragon had unceremoniously sprouted from the edge of his jagged shoulders, covering the area with the shadow of death.

Attached to his scaly back, like three spindly appendages, were a set of triplet tails—each configured of a spiny bone-like substance. They whipped together with ferocity as grand as a whirlpool's spin.

Suspended in Miaximos' chest, but exposed to the naked eye, was a massive, pulsating dark heart. The organ exuded a foul ruby mist that corroded everything it touched.

The monster smiled harshly, its eyes narrowing with impatience.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The primordial methodically clicked its bladelike claws, producing rhythmic compressions of air.

A violet orb manifested itself from beyond the towering presence of Miaximos. Within this ball of spinning energy, a face began to self-construct. It possessed the shape of a once usurped king.

Ozai. Ozai was the name of the vessel. Ozai was the one who stared obediently into the eyes of the Ultimatix Overlord.

"**Well, Julius—I see you've taken a liking to this particular bag of flesh," **bellowed Miaximos.

"Oh yes… this vessel is so fine. It is so nice… so _interesting_. I think this one was energy-bended."

"**Never mind that. What have you learned?"**

"There are two more sigils."

"**And what of the first sigil that I… disposed of…?"**

"It is still locked deep in the chest of that old hag."

"**Excellent. His body—I presume it was transported back into the confines of the sigil-shielded fire nation?"**

"You presume correctly, as per usual."

Miaximos stretched his powerful wings, red infinitum crackling around his almighty form.

** "And our agent, what of him?"**

"Stuck in the boiling rock. Hah… hah. Should I request of him to… _persuade_ the other prisoners to join _our_ cause? Hah. Hah."

**"Soon. And what of the avatar?"**

"That avatar?" Ozai's face squirmed with unease, "You told me he wasn't a threat."

**"So long that he does not find the demonic boy."**

"And if he does…?"

**"SILENCE!"**

Ozai immediately shut his mouth.

**"For now, your mission is to DESTROY the final two sigils. After that…"**

Ozai smiled sadistically before bursting into cruel laughter.

_"You're going to raze the fire nation to the ground!"_

It was Miaximos' turn to laugh.

And when he did, the earth trembled in submission.

_"The avatar will kneel before you! And he will know FEAR."_

**END OF CHAPTER**


End file.
